Boomerang
by Daedalus370
Summary: Upon the death of General Glen, Valter slyly pins his tragic murder on the princess of Renais and sends Cormag, Glen's brother, on a path of revenge. Valter's cunning plans backfire, however, creating a boomerang effect that may cut short his life with a well-placed stroke of the spear. Rated T for blood and violence.
1. Dispute between Gemstones

**_Updated Author's Note: _Hello, everyone, and welcome to my newest and shortest episodal fan-fic. Even though I am new to this style of writing, I hope you enjoy it and find the story to your liking. Six chapters and an epilogue are expected to be posted, so please stick with me and review. Thank you for your time.**

**_Disclaimer: _No, I don't own Fire Emblem, silly. I'm a writer, not a game developer.**

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**_Boomerang Chapter 1: Disquiet between Gemstones_**

To Glen, honour and trust were qualities which exceeded all else. The two people he loved more than any other were his brother Cormag and His Majesty the Emperor of Grado, but never did he imagine the possibility of one betraying his trust.

Eirika's party retreated into the mountains with haste, and the Sunstone fixed his steely eyes on them all the while, wondering if he was right to let them go and to question the emperor. It was true that Vigarde had been keeping many secrets from his advisors and generals, but would he lie about the slaughter of an entire town to the Imperial Three? It was almost betrayal to think along these lines, and yet, if everything Eirika and her princely friend said were true, he was the betrayed.

Glen grimaced and twirled to face his platoon of wyvern knights. One glance showed that they were waiting with patient earnest, seated in their specialised saddles without an anxious movement. _At least _they _trust their superior_, he chastised himself inwardly.

It wasn't long before flaps of distant sets of wyvern wings commanded his attention, and in the distance he saw another array of troops flying toward him. In the lead was a signature sight: a twisted half-breed of serpentine and draconic blood, and upon its back was an equally twisted man he wished erased from history.

"Valter . . ." he uttered under his breath, fists clenched from the thought of seeing his opposite's face. "It figures he would show."

He hastened toward his companion mount and hoped his fellow general would fly overhead, but Valter swooped low to meet him. The gusts of the half-breed mount carried the stench of rotting flesh within its rows of teeth.

"Where do you think you are going, Glen?" Valter hailed over the distance. Glen's skin crawled every time he heard his unctuous tone, and this was no different.

"Valter . . ." he uttered again upon reaching the saddle, hoping the venom in his tone was discredited as effort to seat himself.

"What am I supposed to make of this?" Valter continued with a gingival click. "Those little birds I saw flitting away to the mountains looked vaguely familiar. What do you suppose would happen if it were known you let Eirika escape?"

"Do as you will. I'm returning to the capital," Glen countered. "I have urgent questions for the emperor, so clear the path, Valter."

"Whoa, hold on now. No reason to rush off, is there? After all, this is where you're going to die, see?"

Glen's hand instinctively drew closer to the blade at his hip, wondering whether this threat was idle or a sign of things to come. Valter was as unctuous and sly as a gorgon, so there was no telling what his mind was concocting.

"What are you babbling about? What lunacy are you imagining?" he demanded.

Valter laughed lightly and cocked his head, voicing: "We were a grand trio—the Imperial Three: you, Duessel, and me. But my place among you was stolen, and I was exiled from Grado."

"This again? Fine. You slaughtered people who had no intention of fighting. The emperor's punishment was just and warranted. Now let's end this debate before it begins afresh."

"Why, it's not a debate at all!" clucked Valter. "It's just that, after my fall from glory, only desire kept me alive. Desire for revenge. My hatred burned so fierce that I was only barely able to safeguard my sanity. That hatred keeps me warm still today. Oh, how it burns. . . ."

Glen swallowed hard, hand clenched on his silver broadsword and pulling it halfway from its sheath. Valter was definitely picking a fight, and he wondered which of their mounts would win if pitted against each other. Kaczo was indeed powerful, perhaps the best wyvern within Grado, but what terrible tricks did the creature at Valter's heels hide within its mixed lineage?

"Hear me, Glen, or should I say 'Wyvern General of the Imperial Three?' I live for battle. I crave it and have no need for peace. That is why you must _die_!"

The serpent hybrid frenzily uplifted with a single sweep of its wings, accounting a height equivalent to six men. Glen gritted his teeth and commanded his wyvern to do a similar movement with his heels, only to result in half such a height. Valter had a wing advantage, sure enough, but that evidently wasn't all when he spotted the fell creature's rider pulling a long-handled corseque from beneath the creature's wing. With a second lift, his opponent rushed toward him with a downward diagonal slash.

Glen was only barely able to maneuver his wyvern away and parry the spear, but his mind filled with new fears. The enemy mount was not only stronger, but faster and more agile than his. Also, Valter also aimed a crippling strike for Kaczo's wing with a much longer weapon. An attack on unequal grounds, strengthening his advantages to the max—that was what Valter planned, and Glen would not have him succeed.

"Cur! You are as mad as you are dishonourable!" he shouted over the wind, having Kaczo climb higher into the sky.

"Tut tut, it's a battle between generals! Sends the spirits soaring, eh?" Valter commented dryly as he rose high above Glen a second time. "Come, Glen! Entertain me!"

A second parry followed another spear thrust, but blood was still spilt. Glen's upper shoulder was ripped open from one of the angled blades, and the grip on his broadsword lessened.

"Curses . . ." Glen uttered through gritted teeth, surveying the damage. His crimson armour took much of the brunt and prevented bone damage, but the size of the wound was worrisome. Should the battle continue for long, his sword arm would falter and he would lose his life. "I won't let that happen," he rumbled. "Let's lecture these mongrels!"

The wyvern bellowed pleasedly and dove toward the foul serpent with half-spread wings, Glen preparing a swing for the right moment all the while.

One hundred wings. Eighty wings. Fifty wings. Ten. As Kaczo swung in front of her distant relation, Glen sliced his sword down toward the serpent's neck, only to miss by a slippery dodge which distanced the two by a wingspan. With chafed nerves, Glen climbed higher once more, and once again Valter swooped from afar.

"Now, Kaczo!" he yelled.

The wyvern swung rightwardly, evading the spear's arcing blow by minimum distance.

It was a game of cat-and-mouse, each rider bringing down his weapon and changing tactics without success. Minutes ground into each other like pestle ingredients, and the lower-ranked riders of either general watched dismally from the ground as the two fought fiercely in the azure skies.

Glen groaned through fatigue and blood loss, his arm losing sensitivity and nearly his sword as well. Weakness took strength's place as his shoulder's limit approached.

"I don't know how many I have left in me, Kaczo . . ." he said when the pair summited from a swoop. "If I die in these airs, give my little brother and Genarog my full . . . urgh . . . apologies, all right?"

The wyvern snarled as if demanding an explanation, scolding him with her gaze. Valter coldly took advantage of the moment. One fell swoop was made, and the corseque was bloodied a second time that day.

Wyvern and rider cried out at the same time, cut by the same swing, and the pain in Glen's side burned its way to the rest of his body like an insatiable fire. He closed his eyes to fight back the anguish, yet, as he did so, he felt his fingers loosen from the reins and feet slip from the stirrups. Within seconds he was slaved to the air, thrust earthward by the eddies of his mount and the passing winds.

Air sped past his ears like banshees of old wives' tales. The pain slowly died as the armour chilled his flesh, and he deemed that it would not be long before his body impaled the ground.

"Brother . . ." he articulated, unable to hear himself through the whistling in his ears, "I have failed you. Live for the both of us. Trust . . . your own . . ."

Kaczo's nearing screeches beckoned him from his testimony, and he opened his eyes at last. She dove beautifully, scales glistening like diamonds in his tear-strewn eyes and the golden sun. Glen reached upward with his uninjured hand in full hope she would snare him before the Underworld swallowed him whole.

She managed to swing under him, yet there was not enough time for the two to recover. The Sunstone's vision lapsed into a speedy darkness, but not before he elicited a final curse from his dying heart: _Valter, you'll pay with your life in the end, slowly and without relish of past deeds._


	2. Unleashing the Juggernaut

**Author's Note: Here's Chappie 2 for your reading enjoyment. If you never hated Valter in the game or even in the first chapter, I assure you that you will now. I know I do.**

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_**Boomerang Chapter 2: Unleashing the Juggernaut**_

Valter's smile never wavered, sustained by the unquenchable thought that he, the new Moonstone of the Imperial Six, tasted Glen's lifeblood through his lance. For eight long years Glen flaunted his position as the man responsible for his discharge, and all the while Valter schemed, wishing upon every instant for the chance to revenge himself.

His reacceptance was a sign from Lady Luck herself. For years he imagined that assassination was the only way to remove Glen, but once he was accepted back into Grado's fold his window broadened in scope. Something as pathetic as slitting his opponent's throat in his sleep was no longer a limitation; instead he was able to thrust a lance through his heart in combat, and that was just what he did in the end.

The Sunstone's death was only the beginning, and he questioned who should be the next to perish. Would it be one of the royal brats of Renais, or perhaps Generals Selena and Duessel, others who played a part in his ostracism? He smacked his lips at the choice. All four presented themselves as exotic prey. Then there was the emperor himself, but Valter concluded long ago that he would be a finale. No revenge is complete unless everyone was erased, starting with the firstly involved and ending with the last person alive.

Pinnacles rose into view after a seventeen-hour flight, vermilion caps placed upon a cream-bricked citadel. For hundreds of years had Grado's keep and battlements not seen action, and now guards scurried along the walls, protecting the emperor with sword, spear, and arcane arts.

"Minnows. Spineless weaklings, all," Valter thought aloud as he halted his wyvern. "To plunge my spear into them would be a mercy, but oh so sweet is the hunt of the now that I desire better things." He laughed without check and patted the leathery hide of his mount. "You think similarly, don't you, Zekkerplato? You always loved the meat of your kin."

The creature screeched, part bellow and part hiss. There was no mistaking the bloodlust within its crossbred mind or the yearning hunger in its stomach.

"Stick with me and you'll taste the flesh of hundreds of 'verns, maybe even dragons or the delectable flesh of manaketes, but for now we have a package to deliver. Best not keep my lessers waiting."

With a kick on its side, the hybrid rushed toward the wyvern nesting grounds, saliva dribbling from the corners of its mouth. Valter had a similar excitement pitted in his stomach, and his smile grew as he approached the keep.

* * *

When Commander Cormag was informed that a wyvern rider had been spotted on the horizon, he thanked the runner and speedily left the training grounds, paying little mind to the restrictive armour still bound to his body. A lone rider meant a message and he was inclined to hear it, no matter what bad or good news it harboured.

Up the nesting tower he climbed, scaling six revolutions of the central staircase in one of the ugliest sets of armour Grado's practice ring had to offer. The tower was the largest of the keep, built to accommodate the nations wyvern population from chick to adult. Every floor he passed had the dimensions of a throne room and was house to a small flock, and the smell was enough to bowl over a noble.

The messenger's beast swung into the landing above, but the screeches it uttered were not the ones he expected.

"It's that serpent," he spat like a curse, pausing before continuing his ascent. "I hope General Vex gathered news beyond that of murdrum this time."

Like his elder brother, he did not enjoy Valter's presence, but he put on a commendable expression in light of this when he stepped into the room. Valter's mien reeked of villainy and death, and seeing that perpetual smirk smote him like a hammer to the chest.

"Moonstone," Cormag spoke with his back braced against the wall.

"Why, if it isn't Commander Cormag," Valter returned upon dismount. "I was just going to look for you, too. Life truly is a game of chance, is it not?"

Cormag hesitated with his answer: "Yes it is, though I prefer other games."

"Yes, I thought you might, considering your garb," the general commented snidely. "I have some urgent news to tell you and our most esteemed emperor. I trust you have the time?"

The lesser officer nodded reluctantly.

"I regret to say this," Valter continued, "but your brother has been slain on the field of battle."

Cormag's expression was stuck between anger and horror. Such news was something he thought he would never hear. Actually, it was greater than that: he knew for a fact that he would never hear it, yet here he was, listening to impossibility.

"My brother is . . . dead? That can't be! This is a gross and loathsome joke of yours, Valter, one which I do not take kindly to."

"There is no mistake," The Moonstone corrected, his smile finally dropping. "I've brought his corpse with me. That is him right over there, isn't it?"

The commander swallowed hard and glanced over to where Valter pointed. Vassals normally in charge of the hatchery were pulling something from underneath the half-breed's tail, and the crimson-gold armour and blond hair were unmistakable.

Cormag rushed over to Glen's side, shoving the assistants out of his way before he tugged the body free. He observed that the breastplate was smashed in from behind like a collision, and that a gaping hollow was formed where the heart should have been. Misery prevented anything more than a "no" from escaping his lips.

"Not a pretty sight, eh? You'll be hard pressed to ready that for a proper burial," Valter crooned from behind him. "But listen to me, Cormag: there is no reason for you to grieve. After all, who's better than you to replace your brother in His Majesty's service? Imagine it"—Valter spread his arms wide like a thespian—"_General_ Cormag, the new and improved Sunstone, yes?"

The option went unheeded as the commander snared Valter by the shoulders and pulled him close.

"Who did this? Who is responsible? Tell me who!" Cormag yelled in his face.

Valter's oily composure gave way to fear. His tongue darted over his lips before biting down upon them.

"Well . . . Glen's last orders were to find and subdue the princess of Renais. 'Tis a pity I was delayed. I arrived just in time to see the finishing blow. His mount lay wounded on the ground from a bad landing, and in the end . . ."

Valter trailed off, eyes and head evading the young man's gaze.

"Speak!" the commander snapped, jolting the man in a ferocious grip. Rage kindled his eyes like heated coals.

"I saw Eirika run her blade through his chest and flee," Valter voiced, shattering the young man's hold with his forearms to slink away.

"Eirika!" Cormag ejaculated, gnashing his teeth together and pacing like a madman. "Tell me, where is she now?"

"Eh? What good would it do if I told you? Without orders from His Majesty—"

"_Answer me!_"

"In the eastern mountains of Carcino," Valter spoke submissively, turning toward the hanger door. "The forests are thick in that region. It won't be easy to locate her by air, but . . ."

The hotblooded commander had already left the room, descending the staircase to find his draconic companion three storeys down. Revenge flooded his every pore, and an insurmountable hate filled his every thought. Eirika was going to die a slow and painful death, of that he was certain.

* * *

Before Cormag revolved around the corner, Valter turned his head back toward him and wielded his signature smirk. Two major pieces were removed from play with a single ploy, and his goal of exacting a perfect revenge became ever clearer.

" 'Tis a tremendous pity you weren't alive to see this," he commented toward Glen's mangled body, crouching over it like a child with a tortoise. "Ah, if only you were able to look back upon the day I was banished through my eyes, you might have saved Cormag and yourself. Too bad, eh?"

The rhythm of wyvern wings echoed distantly through the room, emanating from both the staircase and the hanger entrance.

"Gone already, has he? I've sent a gift your way, Eirika, but I trust you can handle it. You're my girl, after all, and I need you to be strong for me."

A cackle welled within him, forcing its way to open air. Who cared if others were in the room with him? The petty gossip of vassals meant nothing to him, and their words wouldn't graze the ears of Emperor Vigarde and his generals without being dismissed as bosh. All that mattered was the undying hunt, and nothing would stop him from achieving his goal.


	3. Failed Intentions

_**Author's Note**_**: Well, here's the third chapter, I guess. Normally I would apologise to everyone for the long wait, but since I have no present audience leaving me reviews it might as well be dedicated to myself. Thusly, therefore, and consequently, sorry for taking so blooming long, me. I swear I'll make it up to myself.  
**

**Sarcasm aside, I hope that you guys and girls would enjoy this chappie. This has been my first chapter involving monsters since, uh, that other time. I really should get a few hours' sleep before publishing. Anyway, happy reading, everyone.  
**

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**_Boomerang Chapter 3: Failed Intentions_**

Cormag often cursed his own folly for not bringing rations. A wyvern as conditioned as Genarog could fly for six days without feeling the pangs of hunger, but he felt them after a few hours since he left. The sensation started as a quiet gnawing, an ignorable gnat which nibbled at his stomach lining, and ignore it he did.

Over the progression of two days, the gnat grew in size and rapacity. The commander lusted for food so much that the deer he espied in Renais thickets tempted him with their presence, no matter how much he told himself that there was no flint or tinder. Even water was out of the question. Every lake the two flew over was tainted by the passage of roaming hordes of undead, fating them to ride on without hydration.

The third day was worse yet. Without a single drop of water to cool his tongue, his throat grated with every swallow and his stomach burned like liquid fire. All thought of food and water drove his body into a terrible disquiet, and so he struggled constantly to drive it from his mind.

Even with the emptiness caged within his ribs, Cormag searched for an explanation of his brother's death. No matter how he looked at it, the thought of Eirika slaying his brother was an impossible feat. Bringing down a wyvern rider with a blade required either unearthly finesse or a paragon's understanding of the sword, and as far as he knew she was neither cunning nor dexterous.

Searching for Eirika proved more difficult than it appeared. The destruction caused by the war and the mindless undead sprawled across every town and city he came to view, and there were too many trail signs in the undulating fields of grain and grass below to follow any definite path.

Upon reaching the Pelyn Mountains the following morning, some good finally revealed itself to the travelling duo. A freshwater spring spilled out of the mountainside and into a basin, allowing the two to slake their throats by drinking their fill. A second boon came hours later when Genarog caught sight of a trail of dead monsters littering a mountain path, proving that an army had passed through. Curious, Cormag instructed his wyvern to descend so he can fetch a closer look.

The smell was already overpowering when they descended halfway, hundreds of times worse than that of the Grado Keep nesting grounds. The commander was forced to cover his mouth with a handkerchief to breathe to prevent from gagging, and even that was not enough.

Genarog refused to land around the bodies, leaving Cormag to walk on his own among the corpses. Every passing monster had a noxious odor that eventually wormed through the linen cloth pressed against his face

_All these wounds are different,_ he thought as he scanned the grounds, _and_ _were wrought by every magic and weapon I know of, yet only monsters were killed. Such variance appears to be the work of renegades or mercenaries, but some or all of them would have died against such a number. Besides, there is Frelian fletching on some of the arrows found on some of the bodies. Does this mean Frelia has united with another nation to attack Grado? I cannot imagine any other tactician than Innes who wins without loss._

The commander mused back to the young prince of Frelia, a gifted spymaster, tactician, and expert archer. It was only a year since Emperor Vigarde introduced the two to each other, but the memory of the young prince was fresh in his mind. He was a man who made a fine ally and a fierce enemy, and if Eirika travelled beside him Cormag had to be cautious.

Genarog snarled warningly across the clearing and brought Cormag back from his musings, the commander scanning his surroundings like a hawk searching for prey. Spotting nothing unusual, he turned toward the wyvern and launched toward it a look of inquiry.

"Something wrong, old boy?" he shouted over the distance. "See something I can't?"

The wyvern ruffled its wings in annoyance and shifted its head toward the cause. Streams of pebbles interwove with each other along one of the mountain's steepest faces, their sounds so low that Cormag had to focus to hear them, and looking up further were a number of intimidating cave openings. Even more intimidating were their occupants, however.

Several wolfish heads with large fangs and blood-hued manes peered down from the inky blackness, each bearing a likeness to some of the corpses lying on the path. They were the mauthe doogs, hounds of legend become reality, but even worse than their horrific faces were the three luminous sets of too-close eyes shining forth from deeper within the dark. He did not have to squint to notice the flame-red gaze looking back at him, forcing his legs to turn to jelly.

"Please don't be what I think you are . . ." Cormag pleaded.

A gwyllgi stepped forth from the shadows. It was the mauthe doog's rarer cousin, a Cerberic monstrosity oft considered a harbinger of tribulation, yet other than size very little semblance remained. Ashen fur was shed to reveal ebon skin wrapped taut against a bony frame; the mane spanned the entire back; and the rat's tail had replaced its protective sheathe to reveal excrescent vertebrae glistening with a secreted poison the commander did not want to test.

Cormag dared not look any further, running towards Gen with all his might. He could hear the first members of the pack scraping against the steep slope, and many more soon followed. A unnerving howling dirge rang far throughout the valley and bounced along its walls, the pack a chorus that sung his doom and urged him to look over his shoulder.

Doing this was a mistake, he realised; all he caught was a brief glimpse of the drove scaling the mountainside before he tripped on a terrene rise. Cormag righted himself instantly and continued, wincing every time he used his right ankle. Pain or no pain, however, there was no chance he would allow a sprain to turn him into some creatures' supper.

"Gen, to me!" he cried out between hobbling motions. "I don't think I can make the distance on my own!"

With an ear-rending shrill and large beating movements, Genarog took to the air. Cormag stole a second backward glance and noticed the pack bounding toward him at full speed, the gwyllgi already at the base of the mountain with its three heads hung low in pursuit.

His wyvern reached the commander first. Cormag shielded his eyes from a torrent of scattered dust and scrambled into his saddle as quickly as possible, a difficult feat with a twisted ankle. Pulling a leather noose around his waist and grappling the reins, the commander was more than ready to leave the blood-drunk mountain.

The triple-headed monster had other plans in store for the two. Before Genarog flapped his wings a second time, it caught the wyvern's leg between its centermost jaws and dug deep. Cormag quailed where he sat, the resulting screech and the following triumphant howls from the pack so intense that his mind locked in place. He was sure that the creatures were too far away to catch up; he must have taken too long. Now Gen was suffering for his actions, and he was going to make things up to him in one way or another.

Loosening the reins by an arm's length with his free hand, the commander leaned backward along the saddle. There he saw the abomination dangling off the wyvern's flank, trying to sink its teeth deeper in an effort to ground them both. With a scowl, Cormag let go of the reins completely to roll further along Genarog's body and angled the lance's tip for the heart of the beast.

"Die, mutt!" he shouted, struggling to keep his arms steady whilst he thrust his weapon toward the creature's heart.

The spear's aim was poor, striking the right side of the gwyllgi's chest instead of the left. The abomination clenched its jaws harder in response. Cursing, Cormag pulled the weapon out and mimicked his previous actions, striking true this time. Impure blood gurgled through its mane in waning surges, and within seconds the heads lolled and the body fell lifelessly to the ground.

Gen seized the moment to climb into the morning sky, his wings beating faster and faster until the Hadean wails no longer reached his ears. The two rose by three hundred wingspans above the mountain, but neither were relieved by the end of their ascent.

"That was close . . ." heaved Cormag, snatching the reins once the two had summited. "Too close for my liking. I hope you didn't notice that my saddle strap was the only thing that kept me from plummeting to my death."

Genarog said nothing, only his wings and a light breeze striking Cormag's ears.

"So you _did_ notice?" he huffed. "Good to know everything isn't out to kill me today. What in blazes were you thinking, taking off without me being ready?"

The wyvern stared at him with one eye, the gaze wordlessly saying "If I wasn't sure that you'd still be alive, I would have waited."

"Mm-hmm, right," Cormag replied mockingly. He stuffed his feet in the stirrups for extra measure before pulling a handkerchief from his saddlebag. "While down there, I got a pretty good look at your wound. How about I make things right between us by patching you up once we land, maybe letting you hunt afterwards? Just bring me something as well. I'm starving."

The wyvern lifted its head eagerly, and the commander smiled in like while he wiped the blood from his spearhead. Regardless of whether the meat was raw or not, the meal was assured to be Elysian compared to grass or leaves.

* * *

"My esteemed Sunstone is dead?"

The question fell upon Valter like shattered glass, uttered by the rattling throat of the Silent Emperor. The general licked his lips furiously, finding it difficult to keep his calm in the dim light of the magefires positioned so poorly around the palatial hall. The teal embers twisted one's features into a death's head, making the emperor's gaunt face seem gaunter and his eyes more sunken, but on the brighter side they did not give off enough light to betray his unease.

"Your Majesty, he let the fry escape from the hook. Eirika's host left the mountain unscathed by General Glen's forces, and when he confessed his traitorous actions I put him down, as the law dictates."

"No such law was made in my country or any other. Do you take me for a fool?"

Valter's tongue darted over his colourless lips again, but before he could respond the emperor continued.

"While I commend your action, there was no point killing him. He had purpose. The Cinnabar and Topaz divisions of Grado are now leaderless."

"Ah, that is _exactly_ why I came here from the front," The Moonstone spoke with new life, eyes twinkling in the dark. "With the nation's best wyverns grounded, your cause is heavily weakened, but what if a new, existing leader was put in charge? Why, the problem would be solved, and communication between the remaining generals will be simpler to uphold. Let me be general of all wyvern wings."

Vigarde's head lifted, his features unreadable except for the slowness in his jaw as he tried to form words. Valter caught this within a heartbeat. If this slowness was found throughout the emperor's body, he might have a chance of slaying even the emperor once everybody else has been put to the sword.

"No," the emperor dictated flatly. "You will remain general of Wing Jade until further notice."

"But—but why, Your Majesty?" Valter sputtered in confusion. "I have the most experience in the field, the best skill with the lance, and—"

"You don't hold the men's admiration, Moonstone. Your skill may be noteworthy, but Cormag resembles his brother in many ways. He holds the same trust and, soon, the same title."

The general was silent. The denial of his promotion was not part of his long and winding schema, and that assuredly meant that he would have to plan his revenge a second time. However, not all was lost yet, and his eyes beamed with a new spark of hope.

"Your Majesty, our young commander has left the keep four days since on the brink of madness. My scouts say he left the border and was flying northward. Now, I hadn't told Cormag the details of his brother's death, but I assume he turned traitor as well and fled the country."

"What are you saying?" interrupted the emperor, stern eyes piercing into Valter.

"He may have joined the Renais brats or left on a flight of his own fancy, but if he does not return within a week's time it would be safe to assume he is an enemy of the state."

"That would indeed be suspicious, yes. Very well. I give you permission to lead all three wyvern divisions until Cormag returns, but on one condition."

"Yes, Sire, and what is that?" Valter asked, the excitement growing within him becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

"Unless he returns within the allotted time, you shall lead, otherwise you lose all rights to your new title and return to being a lesser general."

"I understand, Your Majesty," The Moonstone uttered with a concealed smile.

"Then go to Jehanna with my blessing, Wyvern General. Bring those desert rats to Grado's knees and crush their Sacred Stone. Generals Caellach and Riev will assist you."

Valter managed an impetuous bow and took his leave, eyes glinting with achievement. Unless Cormag impossibly returned, the title was sure to be his, and neither man nor beast was ever going to strip it away.

"Wyvern General Valter," he laughed gleefully under his breath. "How I like the sound of that!"

* * *

Dusk came early to the lands south of the Pelyn region, flushing the V-shaped canyons with the hues of persimmon fruit before being replaced by gloom. Even still, Cormag rode on. The lassitude born from three days and nights without rest plunged his mind and body into a state between consciousness and unconsciousness, and only the constant desire for vengeance kept his chin from dripping onto his breastplate.

"Where are you?" he muttered, eyes restlessly scanning the ground for any sign of passage.

He unknowingly moved a hand to his queasy stomach, the meat he had eaten hours ago roiling within. Once Genarog brought back a bear leg from his hunt hours ago, Cormag found its thigh meat to be so ropy and fetid that he gagged on its taste and texture, and even after he swallowed four or five globules it was a constant struggle not to retch. After he was finished, the commander tossed the leftovers away from him with disgust. Gen devoured the remaining flesh with relish shortly afterward, but it was far easier for Cormag to watch him enjoy the meal than enjoy it himself.

"Where are you?" he murmured again, a loud whisper over the hum of sweeping wings.

The sun dipped fully beyond the furthest western canyon wall, heralding night's full emergence. The ruby borderlines of clouds above the slumbering sun glowed still, and the dark valleys below harboured sinuous rivers that twisted and wound like the slashes of swords. _Like Eirika's sword, _he thought.

"Where are you?!"

His scream was more akin to the croak than anything human, but his voice volleyed among the poorly vegetated cliffs all the same.

Genarog gave the commander a questioning stare that made Cormag regret putting voice to his thoughts. If Gen knew that his brother was dead, there was no telling how poorly he would take the possible loss of his nest-mate. Kaczo and he were almost inseparable, nurtured and fed alongside one another like the best of friends, and Cormag would rather suffer alone than torture his companion with the terrible truth: she may not be coming back.

"Sorry, old boy," he apologised, hiding his words behind a shell of weariness. "I think I have been riding too long to think straight."

The stare gave way to some other notion, and Genarog banked into a spiral once he turned his head. The commander snatched at his reins to regain control but found steering an impossible task without being tossed about in the air. He had to wait until the maneuver was finished. _Easier said than done,_ he mused inwardly, feeling his stomach lurch with every revolution.

The two landed onto a patch of sawgrass six wings away from the silty banks of a river. Cormag tried to guess his companion's actions, yet no matter how much he scanned the horizon he could not spot trouble.

"Why did we land?" he asked. "I don't see archers, flyers, or monsters, so what has gotten into you?"

Genarog rested his head and belly against the sharp grass without a wince, head tilted aloofly.

"I see . . . you want us to rest for the night before continuing, is that it?"

The wyvern snorted with approval and waited patiently for its rider to leap from the saddle. The waterlogged earth sagged beneath Cormag's boots like a squelched sponge. He decided to count this as a mixed blessing. The location may have been unsuitable for sleep, but without the grass he might have been sucked into the ground within the minute.

"Ugh, not exactly a choice location for a restful place, but I doubt anything I say would change your mind, right?"

Genarog resituated in his nest of crushed grass, curling away with mock disinterest. The commander shook his head in frustration.

"It seems I'm not the only irritable one present. You had better not fly away while I sleep," he grumbled as he approached. "Now hold still and let me loosen this saddle for you. You need all the comfort you can get before we leave at sunrise."

He completed the sentence with a mental "as do I" as he scanned the area for a suitable place to pass the night. With stinging grass as bedding and flooded soil his only mattress, the night held no promise of sleep beyond a draining catnap.


	4. Miscalculation

**_Boomerang Chapter 4: Miscalculation_**

Gen was the first to wake. An unbroken rest from dusk to dawn on the field was a rare occurrence even before the start of the emperor's war, and to sleep on marshy grass, to the extent of the commander's knowledge, brought him far more comfort than the hay and rocks composing his nest. With a loud and contented yawn he rose to his haunches and shook the water from his scales, flinging them in every direction.

Cormag, on the other hand, found minimal rest or comfort. Between Genarog's nightly kicking, the sting of the grass against his exposed arms and legs, and the frigid water which seeped into his armour, he found few chances to drift off, and when his mind sank into the first true slumber he had for days Gen had to ruin it with a spray of droplets an hour later.

"Thanks for the rude awakening, old boy," he growled while rising to his feet. "I slept so wonderfully I forgot to get up."

Gen snorted in response and stretched his hind legs as if his wound were fully healed already. Cormag took that as a sure sign that the patchwork he applied the night before kept the dampness out of the wound. _If only my armour could have done the same, _he unhappily noted as water trickled down his spine.

They moved on before the sun greeted them at the campsite and scanned the valley floor. Morning light idly dipped into the gouged earth like a ladle, drawing out a minimal view of the herons wading through the shallows or the multitudes of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. They did not, however, find a single sign of passage. Not one blade of grass seemed abnormally bent, nor was a single print squelched anywhere in the caked, ever-present mud.

_Odd, _he thought._ The mountains have more monstrosities recently and are difficult to traverse, yet Eirika did not take these routes even though they are the quickest and safest passage_._ Is she taking a longer path for a reason, or is she being delayed? Whichever the case may be, I cannot get answers here._

Cormag steered Gen into the mountains a second time. Monstrous hordes roamed without restraint and slaughtered any other creature they came across, leaving volumes of corpses half-eaten on the mountainsides. The twosome flew high overhead whenever they caught sight of monsters or the husks, unwilling to test themselves or their noses unless the need was there.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably as he spent more time in the chilly mountain air. The damp cloth and padding under his armour clung to his torso as if afraid of falling the hundreds of wingspans to the ground. Similarly, the commander gripped the stirrups and reins tightly. If he lost all sensitivity in his arms and legs, he could have fallen from the saddle thereof.

Further east, Cormag came across the lifeless husks of something other than wildlife littering a valley floor, yet his spirit sank upon finding that the hundreds of fresh cadavers were composed of only fell beings. Unquestionably he was heading in the right direction, but plunging into battle with an army backed by a flawless tactician was like battling a flood with a sword. Nonetheless, he followed the bodies downhill. There was neither the time nor the need to doubt what must be done to avenge Glen's death.

The two came across a large band of soldiers marching down the face of the mountain in scattered pockets of three or four. A pair of wagons meandered in their midst in search of the easiest path, and all angles were left prone to attack. The commander was flabbergasted. Was this relaxed bunch the one which slaughtered monsters so effortlessly? More importantly, was the princess of Renais truly among them? There was only one way to find out, and that was to get closer.

The wyvern snorted and looked toward its rider, something which Cormag took as confusion about riding in alone. Patting the back of its neck comfortingly, Cormag persisted in searching for clues of the army's origins, but Gen let out another agitated noise and nearly bucked him from the saddle mid-halt.

"Hey, what's the big idea?!" the commander snarled.

Genarog turned his head toward the sky above the band and remained that way, drawing the commander's attention. Twin specks of pure-white blurs circled like vultures over their heads, and neither had to glance twice to know what they were.

"Pegasus knights," Cormag uttered lowly. _I was right to assume that Frelia was involved,_ _but I never thought they'd give airborne knights as scouts or support troops, _he continued in thought_. I had better be careful and plan this thoroughly before jumping in, else this may all be over before I can act. I hope we weren't spotted yet._

They were not. The pegasus knights dutifully continued to loop and failed to notice them. For a short while Cormag did not understand the reason, but once he did he thanked his lucky stars that Gen's scales and his dark training armour mitigated with the azurine sky. This gave him time to think and, better yet, a window of opportunity.

Cormag brought Gen to twice the height of the gyrating scouts and circled over them similarly, eyes following the pockets of soldiers in search of the Renais princess. Such an action was nigh impossible at his height: the hue of one's hair was all he was able to discern from the dappled specks below.

Constantly he was tempted to edge closer, yet that risked being heard by the sharp ears of a pegasus or drawing a shadow. The window he pounced upon was just as much of a liability to him as an asset.

While he bore with the situation to the best of his ability, his thoughts inadvertently drifted into frustration. The fire in his heart burned so fiercely for revenge that he wanted to slash at the nearest person available, surging through his veins in every pulse. He stayed a hand from the spear secured by his knee each time the urge arose but lost more ground with every check. _If I don't find Eirika soon, or even in this group, I don't know if I can hold myself back much longer._

A flash of blue from within one of the groups of soldiers caught his eye from further downhill. At first he thought it was a cruel trick of the eyes, but the more he looked the more he was assured that he was correct: teal hair, the genetic stamp of Renais' regal bloodline. She was here. Eirika was here.

Digging his feet into the stirrups, the commander turned the reins sharply in order to descend at a bank, but his mount did not agree. Gen craned its neck to stare with a look equally partitioned between reprimand and concern.

"Don't give me that look," Cormag spoke defensively. "I'm not tired and I'm not stupid. I have to kill the leader no matter what the cost."

Gen's gaze did not falter.

"I know it is a death wish, but this is something I must do. Her life must end here and now before any more die by her hand like . . . like . . ."

Even though he could not find the will to continue when thoughts of his brother invaded his head, it did not matter. The wyvern turned his head as if the reason were enough and banked.

Gen dove at a steep incline, giving the commander no time to do anything besides fight to keep the saddle beneath him. The wind blew fiercely, intensified to a bellowing whistle against Cormag's eardrums, and constantly it tried to push him free of his stirrups and reins. Thanks to the ingenuity of the leather noose tied around his waist, its efforts were very much in vain.

The pegasus knights were clueless of the wyvern dropping from the sun until it was too late. Muffled sounds of surprise from rider and pegasus alike sounded behind the two before being drowned out by distance, and, before a biting neigh or outcry could warn the party below, they reached the halfway point.

Unfurling his wings into slight u's, Genarog slowed his plunge and allowed the commander to repossess the reins just in time to avoid an arrow as it zipped in front of them, fired by a talented archer in one of the leftmost pockets. The commander just barely steered Gen clear from another nocked arrow aimed with pinpoint accuracy, evading by less than a wing's length. Such closeness warranted a strong caution: if they dwindled any nearer to the sharpshooter than they needed or flew in a straight line, neither luck nor a slippery dodge would prevent a third arrow from striking true.

They dove low, following the rocky terrain far from the right flank before charging the front flank in an erratic series of motions. As Cormag pulled out his spear, some of the soldiers rushed in to guard their leader. He cursed the archer under his breath; if there were no need for evasive maneuvering he could have easily reached Eirika without dealing with her guards.

To his surprise, the princess parted her allies and stepped toward him, one hand raised high while the other clenched the hilt of her sheathed smallsword. His mind raced. Was she trying to lure him into a false sense of security by holding back her troops? Did she want to interrogate him before challenging him to a duel? He had to give her credit: Eirika was bold.

The commander glanced toward the archer before deciding to charge or stay his lance and, finding that his arrow was not above level, pulled back upon the reins to slow to a hover. The girl waited with an expression frozen between apprehension and assurance, as did he.

"You're Eirika, aren't you?" he shouted over the beat of Genarog's wings.

"And you are?" she returned, false tones of bravery slipping from her tongue.

"You mayn't know me, but you know my brother well enough," he continued with a fierce glower. "I'm Cormag. I'm the brother of Glen, general of the Grado army, whom you killed."

Gen turned his head in question, but the commander ignored him. His eyes were glued to the princess who dropped her jaw before warily questioning him with a "what?" hardly audible over the steady beat.

"Don't toy with me!" Cormag pitched. "This is no longer war, and this is no longer a battle. This is a duel where I shall fight to avenge my brother. He died in combat, and so I shall not foul his name by murdering you unarmed. But I will have vengeance."

Some of the soldiers behind her raised their weapons and were ready to aid her at a moment's notice, and the commander's grip tightened around his spear.

"H-hold!" she exclaimed, stepping back half a pace and holding out both hands toward him as if to keep him away. "What is the meaning of this? Are you telling me that General Glen is dead?"

"I told you before not to play me for a fool!" he rumbled. "You will not . . . your lies do nothing but stain your honour, nothing more."

"You've got it all wrong! You're making a mistake! Your brother and I never fought. He lowered his sword and left the battlefield to confront your emperor!"

"My brother . . . ?" Cormag mouthed, confidence shaken. Every word she said appeared honest and uninvented, but in the end he felt that he should not let himself be swayed. For all he knew, Glen could have been deceived similarly. "You lie! Where is your proof? Surely you have some proof to back up your claims."

"I've no proof," she spoke regretfully, "but . . . here are the words he last spoke to me. He told me he believed I possessed a gentle heart when we met before. He said that I had not lost that quality."

Cormag's pupils shrank into their whites, and all remaining confidence lay shattered before him. Eirika had indeed spoken to Glen under peaceful conditions, and that held enough claim to ensure innocence of his ruin.

"Those . . . are indeed my brother's words. But then who? Who would benefit from my brother's death besides yo—"

The gaping wound in Glen's chest, the extent of the fall damage on Glen's crimson plating, his fellow general's crooning even though he was present at such a horrible death, a motive for revenge—it all came to the commander in the form of a thunderbolt, flashes of images and thoughts followed by the crash and boom of understanding. He had been a fool. Blinded by his own attempt at revenge, he was oblivious to the fell vengeance wrought by the one man he should have suspected from the beginning.

"Valter!" he spat with enough venom to kill an elephant. The grip on his lance redoubled as if to crush Valter's neck and his eyes blazed with a greater sense of loathing than he had for Eirika moments ago.

"What is it?" she asked timidly, no doubt hoping that Cormag was not glowering at her.

Pulling back on the reins, the commander allowed Gen to drop to the ground and undid himself from his saddle.

"Princess Eirika of Renais, I would be your ally," he pronounced upon dismounting. "I care not why you're fighting. I have no interest in your goals. I want nothing but revenge, and I will have it no matter what. If I can kill Valter with these two hands, what care I if Grado brands me a traitor?"

The princess looked at him in obvious bewilderment, and Cormag became aware that the rest of her host eyed him the same way. Just when he was about to receive an answer, somebody from Cormag's right called out Eirika's name and relieved him of dozens of alienating, distrustful eyes. The archer, unquestionably the prince of Frelia himself, stepped out of the crowd and headed their way.

"You've something to say, Innes?" Eirika asked once he was close.

"I do indeed, but not in front of this turncoat," the prince said flatly before drawing her into whispered conversation.

Cormag launched a drilling glare at Innes all the while and strained his ears. He could hardly hear the conversation, but from the look and sound of things they were arguing. After a few minutes of debate they turned toward him again.

"We have decided that you can stay," Innes announced, "but on two conditions. One: you will surrender your weapons to us until you are given them again in battle. Two: under no circumstance will you raise a hand against anyone here. Fail in either of these conditions and I will show you no quarter, agreed?"

"Agreed," Cormag answered reluctantly, turning toward his mount. "Come on, old boy. We've new orders to fill."

Gen silently and unquestionably followed his rider while he was disarmed and sent into the parting crowd, but the ex-commander sensed the sullenness and confusion within him. Once Cormag tried to approach to pat the wyvern's neck, but it retreated from his touch and frightened the people nearby. He frowned, knowing what he must say but also knowing that it had to wait until they were alone.

_I'm sorry, Gen,_ he repeated inwardly for the majority of the day, the thought never leaving him.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ I am truly sorry for my departure from the world of writing. These past few months have been cruel to me, plus I haven't been able to get past an Emperor-Bulblax-sized writer's block until recently. I pray that the sizable wait has not left you cranky and vicious and that the chapter will meet every one of your expectations. That is all.


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